The Interior of A Heart
by TheElixir
Summary: Armitage Halloran finally decides to end his life. Devil Kylo Ren appears, and offers to help Armitage complete his destiny in exchange for taking his soul. Will Armitage be able to go through killing Brendol, Leia, Han and even Rey? Warnings at the beginning of each chapter.
1. The Prison Door

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Wars or any of its characters.

 **Author's Note:** I blame a lot of factors into the creation of this fanfic. The first and foremost being _The Scarlet Letter_ by Nathaniel Hawthorne, and re-reading it recently became the prime inspiration. Second is the idea of a Demon Kylo seemed too delicious to pass up. Add a dash of _Black Butler_ inspiration, and chatting the idea to a good friend of mine and bam! We got this. This is not beta'd so any spellings and grammatical errors are my own.

 **W** **arnings:** Attempted suicide, depressing thoughts, alcoholism.

~.~.~

 **Chapter 1**

 **The Prison Door**

~.~.~

It's late enough on this snowy evening that those still awake could call it morning. Club goers stumble their way down the icy streets, laughing and chatting happily as they seek warmth either at their own establishment or perhaps one where breakfast is being served at this hour. How delightful it is to be so happy, and enjoy the weather for its comforting embrace of bringing people together in holiday delight and cheer. Even so many stories up, the gentlemen don in a thin jacket can hear the amusement from his perch on the apartment rooftop. He would never admit to feeling the jealousy coil in his heart as he's a business man first, and a friend last if one would be bold enough to call him such.

He stands at the ledge, and all it would take is to step up, and simply _slip_. Instead, he studies the starless sky what with its purple and orange hues caused by stadiums and buildings lit up in this city that never sleeps. He recalls the last time he saw the stars, and that was visiting his mother's grave earlier that year. Perhaps he should see her, and perhaps he will when this was all over. It's a comforting thought of imaging the afterlife, and pondering the existence of man and creature alike, and what omnipresence dictates the value of humans.

Perhaps he should go back to his room, but that thought quickly dies. Beyond the hour, the only thing waiting for him is work at nine, and his mind creates scenarios of his staff receiving the terrible news that their boss leaped to his death as they slept comfortably in their beds. He recalls their faces and names, and knows each came to this city to find stable income, and perhaps a career at a larger company that would satisfy their self worth, and meaning to their meager existence.

By normal circumstances, if one is in the constant motion of working hard, and proving their worth then salvation is at the other end. But by reality's terms, corruption, money and the evil nesting in the hearts of man consume the hopes and good intentions of the commoners. Good will belongs to charity commercials, love in afternoon soap operas, and humanity in false idols. Greed, lust and pride are the downfall of man, and what a glorious drama it becomes when golden idols fade to black and crumble before the eyes of the audience!

But Armitage Halloran knows that the audience is filled with nothing more than dummies and painted masks with recorders echoing the laughter and clapping of the dead. Hope is locked in Pandora's Box, and hides in the depths of Hell. Perhaps if he knew of hope he wouldn't hold despair and self-hate so close to his heart that it if they were physical aliments he would have died four years ago. But now, at the tender age of thirty-four, he stands in front of a decision he's been romanticizing in thought only kept in a red journal hidden beneath broken floorboards. Had these thoughts been brought up by the consumption of heavy liquor then it would take one more glass of some good scotch to convince Armitage that he was making the right choice.

He is a man of action yet no action could be performed. For four long years he's suffered under the choking form of artist block, and no matter how loud and long he's called for his muse to emerge from slumber or hiding it would not reveal itself. Hours spent perusing galleries and books did nothing to spark the creativity that kept the fire of his soul alive, and temperament in check. He, a man of low birth, held the only heirloom that could not be taken away from him by death or thieving hands, but is now gone. Hours, weeks and months spent staring at blank canvases, documents, artboards did nothing, but tear his soul layer-by-layer until he felt that all that was left is a shell of a man who once had destiny before him. Books, lectures and videos could not bring back the dead muse lying somewhere in a trashy gutter, and Armitage hopes its rotting corpse is infested with maggots and plague for it's the satisfying end for it had abandoned him to personal thoughts and troubles with a side of excessive alcohol.

During these thoughts Armitage had taken that step forward, and now stands at the edge of life and death. Hazel eyes glance below, and the height does not frighten him, but rather encourages that gravity will crush his body so his soul may plunge through the concert and tunnels, and enter Hell in all its fiery glory. The greatest love is to death for it's the only affair where both parties win without the fuss of marriage, gifts or jealousy. No, perhaps life itself is jealous as all its essence is removed by an enemy that can never be defeated by the power of love and other nonsense. Armitage recalls a poem by an American woman speaking about death and carriages, and he briefly wonders if he takes the step forward will death catch him in a romantic bridal gesture before carrying him off to eternity.

There is no sound yet he turns around as though compelled by some magical force, and there he sees a man in a 1920's double breasted striped black suit with two tone shoes. Hands are in his front pockets, and a small smile graces the handsome features of the man whose facial hair is merely a five ole clock shadow. Perhaps this man too lives in the complex, and simply needed the fresh air or sought serenity on the rooftop where silence is nowhere to be found; except beneath the ground, but the dead too could hear the city noise, and thought themselves simply taking a nap at the park.

"Will you jump?" the man inquires, but makes no indication he would stop Armitage from the action, and the amount of space between them would prevent the man from becoming a hero.

"Perhaps," the ginger answers, turning his body fully around, "if the mood fancies me." And it does.

"Would you like some advice?"

"No. Save them for the foolhardy youth as I am neither young nor unwise. I am aware of the consequences of my actions, and if you're simply a Samaritan seeking a heroic moment of bravery then I kindly advice you, good sir, leave me to my thoughts. I will decide which direction to step in." The man chuckles.

"What if I have an alternative for your situation?"

Which one: the muse, the family friends or the self? Each had their own compartment of troubles that would require more resources than he was capable of obtaining due to social standing and finances. Did they even matter? Would solving these problems just make his life easier or would it ease the burden on his soul, and allow him to finally put down the bottle? Perhaps not. He's grown fond of drinking, and having no dreams.

"What are you proposing exactly, Mr-"

"Ren. Kylo Ren. No need for us to be formal. I'm not fond of those."

"What is it you seek in me Ren? The hour is neither late nor early, and if I do decide to end my life I wish to do so before the sun rises." Armitage turns back around, his coat making the action a tad more dramatic. Ren erupts in laughter, and the baritone echoes over the roof; strange indeed to find humor in another's suicidal tendencies.

"I'll help you complete your purpose in life, of course." A preposterous idea! How silly and childish to answer someone with such a flimsy answer that Ren might as well push Armitage off the ledge.

"And you want my soul in trade? I doubt it's worth much to even warrant such an agreement." They're silent for a few minutes, both keeping their thoughts close. The snowfall becomes heavier, and no doubt by the afternoon traffic will all, but halt as no one will be able to travel safely. Children and teenagers will be home from school, and no doubt embrace the innocent wonder of snowball fights, building snowmen, and other joyous activities that prevent from becoming cruel adults just a little longer. Some children are granted such privileges, but others like Armitage are forced to become adults earlier than anticipated. "It all sounds like magic, and I don't believe in such nonsense. Leave me to my thoughts."

"Magic does exist." Armitage shrugs, and turns his head around.

"Magic does not-" But Kylo isn't there leaving the red head in a state of confusion.

"I am aware of who you are, Armitage Halloran." Said man turns back around, and Kylo is in front of him, floating as though it's perfectly natural. "You're the son of Nora Halloran and Brendol Hux, and third in line for the Hux fortune, but you're a bastard, and hardly a person aware of your bloodline." Removing his hands from his pockets, a large black tome with iron clasps appears in his hands. "All those hopes and dreams turn to ash just like your body will once time has claimed its physical assets. I know your true purpose Armitage, and will help you complete it. Only then will I take your soul to Hell for eternity. A cliché, but one that most of the known world is aware of."

Was Kylo his carriage or was he death itself coming to claim him before another death god did? But, this could all be a trick composed of alcohol and delusions for nothing of this reality made sense. The book's silver clasps unlock as the tome itself becomes alive; the pages flip themselves, and only stop at blank pages. In the crease is an iron pen. Both objects are old, no doubt about that, and Armitage wonders about the origins of the tome and pen.

"I am willing to offer you something rarely another Devil would especially in contracts – I am willing to become your faithful servant, and obey your commands until you reach your destiny." As Kylo spoke, the pen picks itself up, and begins writing out the details of the contract in beautiful calligraphy. Armitage watches, deciding that he would follow his delusions until another reality sets in. He can't help, but be fascinated, and marvel at the craftsmanship and elegance of the font. Kylo makes no motion, and finds Armitage's attention to the pen humorous.

"Do all humans have a destiny?"

"Not all. Many simply exist, and become another tombstone." If such a person is granted such a privilege. How wonderful it sounds to be blind and ignorant to the world around, and have no worries or fears of the politics, hate and decay of humanity and its actions. "But you're not them. Though I know your destiny, it is you who decides what it shall be, Armitage Halloran. I will be your companion until that euphoric moment."

"And if I decide not to write my name in your black book, Devil?" Armitage looks up now, and whether he's serious of the matter is unknown to the other man.

"Would you deny yourself such an opportune moment? Your ambition and determination are all that matter to me."

"Are there any restrictions? Limitations to your power or mine that would prevent my destiny from being completed?" Kylo snickers at the question.

"Know that I am capable of anything and everything that is unholy. I am the Apprentice to the Black Man himself, and my abilities are grander than any villain you have read in your silly books." The pen finishes writing the contract, and holds itself up waiting for Armitage to grasp its cold metal handle, and sign his name. "The only limitations are ones you set yourself."

"I'm that valuable to you then." A question in the tone of a statement. Perhaps Armitage needed to hear that he was important to someone even if it was an illusion claiming it would steal his soul. Would he admit himself this weakness? "What is the worth of one's soul exactly?" Armitage locks eyes with Kylo's dark ones in false hope that the Devil will speak the truth. Ren smirks, and knows he has Armitage now.

"Depends on the Devil if he finds the human worth the chase." Neither notice the snow providing a lovely white layer upon their heads and shoulders, and neither care to comment on it. Halloran turns right, and carefully walks along the ledge. Some of the bricks are coming loose, and there's one in particular that's unstable three steps away.

"Catch me if you can." Armitage grins as he gracefully spins around as one foot lands on the brick, and both fall. After all, he had a carriage to catch, and it wasn't polite to keep death waiting.

Kylo curses, and banishes his book in favor of soaring downwards towards the human. He should have anticipated this move, but the unpredictability of humans will always be a factor in dealing with them.

Armitage is laughing as he falls, and expects any moment for his entire world to become darkness, but that isn't so as a handsome Devil flashes by, and catches the human bridal style. Ah, death has welcomed him, and brought him into its own carriage and thy name is Kylo Ren. Well now, if magic, self-writing pens, and destiny manipulators are real then Armitage will gladly sign his name. If anything should hopefully come of this adventure then it hopefully it shall be one Armitage can gladly end his life to.

Cradling the human close to his chest, Kylo side steps as the brick smashes onto the sidewalk. The few people that witness this event are caught by surprise at the sudden appearance of the men, and wondered if it were the alcohol or the late hour that lowered their guard. They made the men no more attention, and simply continued on their way towards morning.

Kylo peers at Armitage, and a cheeky smirk spreads on his face.

"So, your place or mine?"

~.~.~

What do you think? Please leave a comment / review. I'll update the other fanfics soon! Currently reworking Black Mage Summoner.


	2. His Devil, Offering

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything of Star Wars, but who is going to see Rogue One?

 **Thank you to:** kylocatastrophe for reviewing (A03)! Thank you to those who have come back for a second time and leave kudos!

 **Warnings for this chapter:** Alcohol abuse, contemplating suicide, mentions of past drug abuse and successful suicide.

 **12/3/2016:** Added warnings to Chapter 1, and changed Armitage's eyes to light brown.

 **~.~.~**

 **Chapter 2**

 **His Devil, Offering**

 **~.~.~**

Armitage Halloran is a workaholic because it's the only thing keeping him from his personal thoughts. He always arrives two hours before everyone else to sort through mail, start the coffee maker, and occasionally order donuts to be delivered half an hour before the staff members arrive.

Halloran is the President of First Order Design; one of the many companies working with graphic design, online marketing, interactive media, and all that internet jazz a normal person didn't want to think on. Seventy percent of their clients are small business owners dotted around the city whose revenues have increased thanks to Armitage and his specialized team, and the customers were willing to pay the cost for the services.

In the earlier years, Armitage managed to land a handful of higher end clients, and it was they who kept the lights on, and the rent paid. Even with the heavy decline of creativity, his Graphic Design Department picked up the pace, and kept the clients happy. Thankfully, they were ahead of schedule which was promising with the upcoming holidays. Armitage wasn't a fool to mistreat loyal employees who stayed after hours to get projects completed, and he made sure they were rewarded for their work. He would have to come up with a way this year as his Co-President normally organized such events.

But, it was the second year without her.

Nestled in the back providing ample visibility in the open studio space and using glass as walls, the lights turn on by motion, and he turns his computer on. It would be a few minutes, and he, a creature of habit, stood by the window, and watched the light snowfall. It's still dark, and it wouldn't be too long before sunlight began coloring the sky. Reaching into his coat pocket, the ginger pulls out an orange pill bottle with the ink label long worn off.

Two years ago, his best friend Cassandra 'Captain' Phasma committed suicide by overdosing on powerful pills mixed with potent alcohol. He had surprised her with a birthday gift when he found her, but by the time the medics arrived it was too late. She died in his arms with a suicide letter addressed to him in her hands; he kept the letter in his red journal hidden beneath the broken floorboards.

As he relied on alcohol to help him through the day, Phasma used various pills to find her happiness. On better days, she didn't touch the stuff, and on her worse she dabbled to see how long her high would last when she didn't eat and drank. When she came down from her high, she would lie on the couch motionless watching soap operas. She wanted to happy, and even tried quitting the drugs.

Phasma didn't want to talk to a therapist; she had a difficult time trusting people. Life had not been kind to either of them, and he thought they could work through their inner demons together.

Armitage doesn't hate her. He doesn't condemn her for her final act. Sometimes, when he's angry and he thinks of her, he wants to know why she left him alone in the city, but she won't answer because she's in the ground at the cemetery. Instead of celebrating her life, he's drinking away those precious memories so he could forget the words she's written down, and he could finally take that step off the ledge. Phasma's cat Millicent knows when he's thinking of her former owner cause she'll curl up next to him, and they'll mourn together.

Armitage glances at the pills before placing the bottle back in his coat.

~.~.~

By the time some of the staff members leave for lunch, it's daylight outside and the city is buzzing with holiday cheer. It's easy to get lost in these moments, and forget the sadness that lingers in all human hearts; hearts that are so easy corrupted that twist the soul into a monster that lurks not in shadows or nightmares, but the neighbor next door. Or, perhaps worse, the voice inside your heart threatening to overcome the very psyche that waves hello to innocent bystanders.

However, simple pleasures can be found in the box of delicious donuts sitting on the table in the break room. No one knows who bought them, but they are eternally grateful, and happily munch on the treats. It's a small reward for their hard work. It's been questioned whether Luke Skywalker, Vice Assistant of Interactive Media is the one responsible for the treats, but it's well known he would eat two dozen donuts they got into the building.

Luke is leaning against the counter, and inappropriately moaning at the cream filled treat as Thane Thanisson enters the break room. Thanisson, former soldier who preferred being called by his surname, throws a glare at the other man. Luke ignores Thanisson, and turns his attention to the coffee maker as the god-given machine finishes brewing another batch. Neither like each other for various reasons with most of them on the lines of ageism (thirty is not old declares Luke), and Phasma.

Oftentimes, Dopheld 'Lieutenant' Mitaka, former Navy soldier himself, and Finn Blythe, a young man from the slums, had to interfere. It wasn't as though Armitage played the part of a fool of the drama in his own company as Mitaka dutifully informed the President of the gossips and happenings. Phasma's death left a void in the chain of command, and it was rumored that Thanisson sought her position as Co-President. Luke and Mitaka, being the eldest staff members from its founding as a four-member team, aided where they could when their President wouldn't get out of bed after the tragic event.

When Luke heard the rumor, he took it seriously, and confronted Thanisson. To this day, only Armitage, Mitaka, Luke and Thanisson know the contents of that discussion as it lead to a fist fight resulting in three broken tables, and damaged equipment. Thanisson and Luke weren't allowed to be alone in the same room.

Now, back to the scene at hand, the staff members stop their busy work, and turn their heads to peep at the Vice Assistants. Some even lean over and whisper to their colleagues. Ah, now here is where the heart of humanity lies, and it lies in the scent of blood. What human ignores the challenge of dominance as we are all genetically coded to obey the chain of command or fear isolation or death! To the displeasure of the audience, Thanisson simply takes a donut, and turns to return to his Marketing department when eye spy with his pretty eyes is a fair maiden just entering the open studio.

She's short in stature, but holds herself with such confidence that any suitor would steal a second glance. The heels she wears are not meant for casually browsing the streets where there's snow and ice with the potential to slip and fall, and hopefully not to her death. What shame would it be for such a young maiden to arrive to her grave in a white dress and makeup to flush those lovely cheeks. Shakespeare and Wordsworth would weep and write poetry conducting her untimely death, and how the audience would weep at the recitations!

Thanisson approaches the woman, a charming smile that would surely cause a soft blush to adore her cheeks.

"Good afternoon, and welcome to First Order Design. I'm Thane Thanisson, Vice Assistant of Marketing. How may I help you?" Oh, to be young and charming even with a fattening treat in hand.

"Afternoon," she greets and smiles in return. Thanisson felt his heart skip a beat at the small radiance of the smile. "Is Armitage Halloran available to speak to me for a few minutes?" A sister? A lover? A girlfriend? He's never heard of his boss even having a date so the chances of them being romantically or sexually involved are slim. But, he knew little of Armitage's life.

"Anybody would make time for you," he recites, and motions for her to follow him. It only takes a spare pair of eyes before the gossip and texting begins, and it takes only a minute before the news reaches all corners of the offices. Somebody whispers to Finn, and he looks over. The visitor glances over, spots Finn, and winks at him. That should keep the gossip alive for a few more days on the meaning behind the harmless gesture.

When the two arrive in front of Armitage's office, Thanisson politely knocks on the door as the President is currently absorbed in his interactive whiteboard as he makes modifications to a design. The ginger turns at the sounds, and motions with his right hand for them to enter.

Thanisson, ever being the polite gentlemen, opens the door, and the maiden steps forth first.

"A visitor for you, sir," the former soldier announces. Armitage nods, and Thanisson shuts the door though it'll give the two no privacy as the staff look on with curiosity. Halloran crosses the room, and extends his right hand.

"Welcome to First Order Design. I'm President Armitage Halloran," he starts.

"It's nice to finally meet you Halloran. I'm Reyna Hux," she answers, extending her own hand in a brief handshake. He nearly pauses at the sound of her surname, and quickly regains his composure. Without a word, they take a seat in their respective chairs before continuing on.

"Please, call me Armitage."

"Likewise, call me Rey. Reyna is far too formal for my tastes."

"How can I help you this afternoon Rey?"

"I came on behalf of the Hux Charity organization. One of my colleagues mentioned you, and I'm here to personally offer an invitation to the Christmas party being hosted in a few weeks."

Hux Charity, founded almost fifty years ago, sought to end poverty and suffering in the city, and provided ample funding for education, rehabilitation, supplies and other necessities for the poor, homeless, and addicts. Head Chairman Brendol Hux is a prominent figurehead as he kept his nose clean, and no scandals of the organization nor the man himself have been dirtied despite any opponent's attempts. They operated year long, but their most promising time is always during the holidays when people felt more generous with their coin purses, and to help ease their guilty minds of whatever sin they should commit.

The Christmas party is said to be the grandeur of any small business, and would definitely boost the First Order Design's name. To be among the elite would be eventful, and the exchange in contacts would result in more jobs and contracts. Ah, but more on that later.

"Your company has donated much over the years, and we thank you for your contributions," she continues.

"One of my staff members is a product of your father's charity so I must return the favor in any way I can." Rey smiles, and it's a secret one.

"I can't stay long, but I was wondering if you would be willing to have lunch with me sometime next week. Purely for business, of course. Tuesday at noon?" Armitage pulls up the calendar on his phone to ensure he's available, and agrees with the time and date. They exchange contact information, and the President escorts the lovely Rey out.

~.~.~

It's sometime after ten, but before midnight when Kylo materializes in Armitage's apartment. The place is dark and quiet. He ignores the tidy living room, and makes his way into the much too small kitchen. Armitage is sitting at the two-person folding table by the window; there's a bottle of bourbon, and it's contents are half way gone. He's too busy staring at the photograph, and doesn't look up when Kylo takes the empty seat.

The curtains are tied back revealing a clear winter sky with a glorious full moon spilling into the room, and, more importantly, giving the human an illuminating glow. How terrible of the writer to not describe the handsome appearance of Armitage Halloran. A tall gentleman with almost straight auburn hair, but it had the tendency to curl ever so slightly at the ends. Its length brushed the tip of his collared shirt. His eyes are a light brown with specks of green and gray around the pupil.

Right now, under the moonlight's grace, his skin is more pale with cute freckles dotting his body in various constellations. His lips are pale, and beckon some to kiss them roughly if not for the purpose of turning them red. How tempting it would be to woo the man to bed, and peer with fascination to see how far a blush could extend. We shall revisit that theory later.

"Either you're a persisting illusion or truly a Devil sent to take me away," the ginger speaks, and grabs the bottle to nurse from it.

"You would've been dead if I were an illusion," Kylo explains, holding his hand out for the bottle. Armitage hands it over, picking his head up, and making eye contact with the Devil.

"I'll greet death in the end. Doesn't matter if it comes sooner." The Black Book appears with a thud on the sad excuse for a table. Once more, it opens magically, and turns to the familiar page with the iron pen resting in the center as a bookmark.

"I can grant that wish, but I know you can complete the task yourself." Kylo takes a sip of the bourbon, and his face scrunches at the bland taste, and powerful kick of the alcohol. "Do you want to know your destiny?"

Armitage ponders the question: was this the entire point of human life? Of its existence? To wander the plains and oceans in quest for something that make all this worth living. Is it found in the forms of charity, cruelness or, perhaps the worst of all, there was no point. Humans simply conditioned themselves to seek one or go mad with inanity. Many find aspiration in religion, but he is not a holy man. The last time he set foot in a church was his mother's funeral nine years ago. Even before then, he questioned and cursed all deities for his and his mother's life. They have forsaken them.

"No, I don't want to know." It wouldn't matter anyhow. Halloran sweeps his hair out of his face, eyes breaking contact, and he begins reading the contract laid out before him. Kylo is silent, a small grin painting his pink lips. He's surprised the human has taken to the supernatural, magic and all its oddities so quickly, or maybe it's the bourbon speeding the process. After a few minutes, Armitage leans back in his seat, and looks at the other man. "I ask whatever I want, and you'll help me achieve it?"

"And at the end, I'll take your soul to Hell."

"And if it involves murder? War? Or other Devils?" Ren's lips spread wide into a full grin, and his canine teeth glisten from the moonlight.

"The more blood the better. I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

"Is there no code between your kind?"

"None that prohibit the execution of one." Kylo removes himself, and steps to Armitage's left side. There, he kneels; Halloran having no choice, but to put the photograph on the table, and turn towards the Devil. Kylo takes Armitage's left hand, and holds it ever so gently like a man proposing to his lover. "I am sworn to protect you. Your soul will belong to me, and I will slay be it Devil or man at your command." The Devil's dark eyes swift to molten amber, and his pupils to slits.

Armitage thinks back to the pills in his coat pocket, and the note in his red journal. He thinks to the blank canvasses in his living room, and the sketchbooks that haven't been touched in months. Glancing at the photograph of two children hugging a woman, he makes up his mind.

"My soul is that valuable to you." He had nothing more to live for, and at least this gave him purpose for a little longer. Picking up the iron pen with his right hand, he elegantly writes his name and purpose. The ink is red, and he briefly wonders if this is what the stories meant by signing your name in blood. When he's done, he sets the pen back down.

There's an odd wet sensation going up his forearm, and it's Kylo leaving a trail of soft kisses. Suddenly, Kylo yanks Armitage, and both are standing up with the Devil's sharp teeth nipping at the upper forearm. Their bodies are pressed against each other, and Armitage tries to pull away, but Kylo's grip on his left wrist is bruising. There's pain shooting throughout his arm as a tattoo forms itself on the area where Kylo nipped at; a black mist forms, and sinks itself into the pale skin. Armitage beholds the inverted sunburst surrounded by a hexagon outline. Is this magic? Devil magic? Or is the sinking feeling in his stomach the realization that everything is real, and that all he had left is now gifted to this Devil on a silver platter?

Kylo lowers his head, and their lips almost touch, and forces the human to make eye contact. Unbeknownst to Armitage, the kitchen becomes coated in a thick layer of darkness as the Devil's body shifts and twists into a larger, darker form. He speaks, and his voice is deeper, and held so many dark promises that it sent shivers down the ginger's spine.

"No matter where you go Armitage Halloran, I will be there. You cannot run. You cannot hide. You cannot escape me. You are mine."

~.~.~

The Red Light District is more charming at night. If virtue seizes the day then sin overtakes the night, and its consequences stumble into morning guilt and shame for some. For many others though, the night is all they know, and it's the code they live by. They are no different than the day walkers; they too laugh, cry, and hold resentment to the powers that be. Perhaps it is they who hold more virtue despite their occupations, and conditions; they are more true to themselves than those who take pleasure in flesh then scorn the very same people once the sun is up.

But, it is here where pure hearts go to die for no one of good virtue can survive a night where neon lights beckon the young and naive into the comfort of a whore's arms, and the succulent taste of cheap beer. To survive, there are rules, unwritten, but etched by the blade, and its ink the blood of those who violate these rules. If there are new people, perhaps lost or curious by the calling of corruption that those with religion in their purpose warn about in every sermon, it's only polite to warn the newcomers. If they continue their foolishness without respect then, well, punishment will commence.

The first, and foremost being to respect The Boss.

It is because of The Boss that there is peace within the Red Light District. Drug dealers, sex trafficking, weapon dealers, and, yes, even gang bosses are forced into a truce to shed less (open) blood. It wouldn't do for the police to get involved in the affairs of the night. The Boss is the law, judge and jury, but not your executioner. Oh no; he had other men to do the job for him in case he's called away to be a proper citizen he portrays himself to be in the papers and for his father's company. You had to really fuck up for him to warrant such a privilege.

In one of the backrooms to a seedy establishment that could provide the setting to any crime film or television show, a man of low birth kneels on the floor before The Boss. The commoner's fingers are broken, teeth missing, and pretty bruises blossom on his body. This man had mistakenly snatched drug money, and that was the second rule – you do not steal from The Boss. Unfortunately, the misfit spent the money on entertainment, and could not hand over a single credit. The man attempted freedom, but was caught, and dragged to the backroom of the seedy establishment where patrons happily drank away, and betted on when and how the man would die.

"Please… please Han-" Smack! His head twists to the side, and there's blood running down his nose.

"It's Boss," one of the henchmen kindly informs. "And it's no use beggin'. Suggest to you pray to your god." The thief stares with one eye at The Boss on the other end of the room.

Boss Hannibal 'Han' Hux leans against the far wall, a lit cigarette in his mouth. He's bored, and his hands itch to kill the guy himself, but he couldn't risk dirtying his suit again, and honestly didn't want to hear another lecture from Brendol. Han wasn't stupid about his role in this life, and it was the Red Light that kept him more alive than the blood in his veins.

Hazel eyes catch the shifting shadows, and he ignores it as his Devil finally makes his appearance next to him.

"'Bout time. Thought ya were gonna miss the fun Boba," Han jokes. The Devil fully emerges, and stands next to his human. Both are roughly the same towering height, and it's easy to be intimidated by them. "How was Hell?"

"Armitage Halloran made a contract with Kylo Ren," Boba notifies, sparing a glance at Han. The Boss removes the cigarette with his left hand, and takes out his cell phone with his right. He sighs like it's been a long night, and he doesn't want to put up with anymore bullshit.

"Any details?"

"None right now."

"Better call Leia." He doesn't want to, but he mindlessly dials his older sister's number. It rings twice before she picks up, but he speaks first. "Little brother made a contract, and with the Devil's Apprentice."

"Which Apprentice?"

"The angry one."

"That may prove a problem, but at least it's not the prideful one. No doubt you can take care of it."

"I'll keep you updated sweetheart." She hangs up. Han puts his phone away, and waves his left hand at his men. "I'm going to bed. Just make sure you clean up." Han turns to exit with Boba in step behind him. The man's pleads are drowned out by the television and noise of the seedy establishment.

~.~.~

The job titles sound weird, but I'm referencing my job so hopefully it makes some sense. What do you think? Getting any better?


	3. Armitage

**Disclaimer:** Bestie got me some Chewbacca slippers :D Still don't own Star Wars.

 **Author's Notes:** Jedi Daniel asked if I could update this soon cause this is his favorite. Special thanks to him for basically beta'ing this. I'm trying to do better at updating my fanfics, but this particular one fucks me up a lot. Thank you for being patient with it.

 **Warnings for this chapter:** Self-harm, cutting; mentions of successful suicide, child abuse.

 **~.~.~**

 **Chapter 3**

 **Armitage**

 **~.~.~**

Armitage should be concerned with the curtains open just enough to allow the moon to gaze with jealousy upon the couple on the bed. His mind is too foggy to care from Kylo's lips igniting his body. If he was in his right mind, he would be aware of the situation at hand, and obscure his body from view. Lust is a powerful controller, and Kylo's cock is one as well. Perhaps it's the fear of death or aftereffects of the marking; either way, the Devil's kisses kindle Armitage's skin. There's passion, and the human chases it like the dying man he is.

There's no rational thought to be had nor does there need to be one. For Armitage, it's like breathing underwater because it's only temporary before he chokes on his self pity. In reality, he's having a difficult time breathing; Kylo is raking his claws down his human's back creating thick red lines. The pain radiates, and it's wonderful, and Armitage hopes it stays with him longer than the fresh ones on his thighs. He's becoming light headed, and it's been far too long since the weight of his insufficient creativity and failures were lifted.

Kylo leans against the headboard, watching with slitted red eyes as the ginger rides him. His canine teeth nip and pierce the delicate skin along Armitage's neck and shoulders. Bruises will bloom, and it'll complement the canvas of scars. The dark haired man grips the other's thighs where fresh cuts open at the pressure. Halloran moans, and rides a little harder.

Ren is a large man in every sense, and pushes Armitage unto his back without disconnecting. The taller man brings the other's legs up, and over his shoulders. Kylo is in control now, and the thrusts are deeper, and Armitage is positive his ass won't forget the massive appendage stretching his hole.

"Cum in me," he says, bucking his body upwards until Kylo grabs hold of the ginger's hips. Armitage can't do much else, but grip dark locks, and mumble short encouragements. There's no rational thought to be had, and it's wonderful to just feel instead of think.

~.~.~

Armitage slowly awakens to the sound of apartment children laughing at a television show three doors down. He keeps his eyes closed, and hums at the lingering pain in his body, but he's too groggy to care. Everywhere aches, and the worst is the mark on his left forearm. His mind is fuzzy, stomach eating itself from insufficient food and excessive drinking, and the sheets need changing.

It's Saturday, and he doesn't want to tackle the world or its problems. He's entitled with a day off, and agrees to go into the office tomorrow to catch up on any lost work. Armitage wiggles into the warm body behind him, and pretends for the fading waking moments' somebody in this world loves him enough to stop him from doing what he does because he doesn't have the motivation to stop himself. It's a false wish, but it's one he'll keep hidden.

~.~.~

Devils have no need for sleep. Resting, yes, but sleep allows for vulnerability that they could not afford. To be a Devil on Earth, however, allowed the peaceful moments. Kylo's left arm drapes over Armitage's hips, and it's easy to slide the skinny man closer to remove any gap between them.

Using the Devil's Mark as the source point, Kylo drops into his meditative trance, and submerges himself into Armitage's soul. Vibrant colors momentarily distract the Devil from searching for the metaphorical heart, but he finds it with practiced ease beneath an orange-yellow splash of color. A thin layer of frost coats it, and it's easy to break before entering the heart.

A human's heart reflects their true self - doubts, dreams, personality; an open book for a Devil like him to study. Normally, a Devil would do this before a contract is drawn up to support the _need_ for said human to make a deal. Kylo has his own reasons for doing this particular one backwards. After months of surveying Halloran, the dark haired man shouldn't be surprised at the heart's environment - space. It's a literal reflection of space complete with flickering stars - wishes -, and planets - memories. There's a sun personifying hope not too far off.

Such delicate forms that implode from keywords and actions. A person's entire existence could be wiped out with sharp words that isn't it more satisfying for the bully to know its victim ended their life not in the form of physical abuse, but because of words. Sticks and bones cause damage that (depending on the condition) the body can heal, but words are tattooed on the soul. Some humans become numb to the reaction while others find outlets to escape the self realization that they are what their bullies say is true. The worst bully is not another person, but themselves.

A person can disappear, and never be seen again, but what they said will echo, and drag that little bit of hope down. Enough of it, and their will to live dwindles. Kylo frowns at the amount of darkness; a representation of the person's will to live. This won't do.

"Wishes, come to me," he beckons, holding his arms out. Like their owner, they don't trust the newcomer, and don't budge. Except for two tiny stars who answer the call, and float in front of Kylo. He takes the first one in hand; it's small, shaped like a broken sphere with its broken parts hovering in its gravitation. Its fuzzy yellow hue resembling a cheap nightlight put in hallways to scare off monsters. "What is your purpose?"

' _I wish Phasma was happy,'_ its child voice answers. The scenery changes to a teenage boy's bedroom. There's a redhead male tending to a tall female's wounds; a scowl on her pretty face, and her blond hair looks like it's been haphazardly cut with scissors. Her clothing is torn, and it's easy to spot the signs of child abuse dotting her slim figure. They're not verbally talking; stray emotions and sentences echo faintly in the room.

 _Mom, can Cassandra come live with us? I don't want to go back. Why does she have to go back to them? Isn't her happiness important? They want me to be someone I'm not. I don't care what clothes you wear, what pronouns you go by or your gender. You're my best friend Phasma. I hate your parents. I don't have a reason to go back._

' _It won't come true…'_

The scene changes. They're in a living room, and the children are now adults. Armitage is crying over Phasma's body. Medics burst into the room; one pulls Armitage back so they can attempt to revive her despite everyone knowing she's dead.

 _Poor fella. Phasma wake up! Time of death is 11:31 PM. I need you! Give him a few minutes before you start questioning him. Why? Overdosed on pills, non-prescription. Who do you think her dealer was? She's been injecting and ingesting other drugs too. Did he know? Phasma… don't leave me here alone…_

The star's sphere cracks and light dims a little more. As it moves backwards, the second star replaces it. At one point, the center used to be a heart, but it shattered with its pieces orbiting the remaining form. Its lusterless pink hue is almost nonexistent.

"What is your purpose?"

' _I wish Mother wasn't sick,'_ says a tired adult voice. Once more the scenery changes, and it's to a hospital room. There's an older woman lying in bed, a bloody rag in her left hand, and her right held by a teenage Armitage. Both are asleep, and there's a small smile on the woman's face.

 _Nora's lungs are being eaten by the cancer. We don't have the technology to save her. What about her son? He doesn't have a father. Who will raise him? Poor boy. Having to watch his mother die. Their insurance was taken away. He's going into so much debt to keep her alive. Wouldn't you though?_

' _It won't come true. The cancer took Mother.'_

Armitage, a young man in his early twenties, sobs on his mother's chest. Their hands are still linked, and she's still smiling. His body radiates sonorous emotions - rage because a new treatment proved successful, but she was too far along to gain any benefit from it. Deep swallowing sadness envelopes his being; grief and depression falling in line. Phasma is on the other side of the bed, holding the unoccupied hand, and crying as well. She doesn't know what to do, and wants to comfort her friend. There's more chatter, and it's not from people. Armitage's thoughts clamor making it difficult to decipher.

' _I just want Mother back.'_

The scene fades, and space returns. His eyes easily adjust to the darkness. The wish returns to its spot, a little dimmer, and cracks deeper. Kylo glides deeper into the space, searching for something specific as he thinks over the new information. The photograph Armitage stared at last night had the two women in it. Cassandra Phasma must have been the shorter girl, and no doubt the older one is his mother. All three were smiling.

' _Where are you?_ '

Kylo pauses, and listens closely for the voice. Man's heart is full of secrets, but there's nothing to hide. How ironic that the thing that keeps humans alive is their Pandora's box. It's here that their subconscious state gives everything a Freudian meaning, and for Devils it's like opening presents. Regardless of literature and television, humans are simple people, and their tendencies are false complaisant wishes. No matter their status or personality, all humans are self-seeking peons.

Unfortunately, Kylo is unable to find the source of the voice. Armitage is waking up, and it wouldn't do if caught. With reluctant acceptance, the Devil leaves the metaphorical heart.

~.~.~

Armitage untangles himself from blankets and Kylo to head to the bathroom. When he opens the bathroom door, he avoids glancing in the mirror for turning on the hot water for a shower. Stepping into the small cubicle, he closes the curtains, and stands there with his eyes closed. Hot water carcasses his wounds with a burning touch, and he doesn't mind it. Kylo's claw marks feel wonderful, and the ginger wonders if every round of sex will be as wonderful. Right now, he's happy. It's temporary, he knows, and he's okay with that.

~.~.~

Kylo remains in bed, snoring softly, and managed to overtake the king size mattress. Armitage enters the kitchen intent on making a fresh pot of coffee. There's no clock on the wall to berate him for wasting a perfectly good morning away, and he couldn't care less. It's easy to forget weekends exist when it's spent staring at blank art boards, and drinking on an empty stomach.

Mindlessly, he pulls out the coffee can, and sets it on the counter next to the coffee maker. He pauses as there's already coffee brewed, and an empty mug next to the machine.

"Morning sunshine," a male voice greets. Turning right, Armitage sees a man sitting at the folding card table. As cliche as it is, he's terribly handsome, and the human cannot help, but blush lightly. The man's looks are the type that you double take in stores and restaurants, and whisper to your friends wondering if he's there by himself. His complexion speaks of his southern heritage (Mexican? Spanish? Guatemalan?), and there's morning stubble complementing his features. Armitage forces himself to pour himself a nice cup of coffee to avoid ogling any longer.

"You're either another delusion or a demon. Either way, I have nothing for you so there's no reason for you to stay," he replies politely. Burglars don't make coffee, and surely Kylo would've disposed of him if he was human. The other Devil grins.

"You're taking this exceptionally well." Why was he taking this whole supernatural nonsense well? Armitage chalks it up to not giving a damn or there's still plenty of alcohol in his system. It didn't matter, and to accept the reality of it sooner would be best.

"Do you often make coffee for contractors?"

"No, Kylo doesn't mind when I do. He's not a morning person, and it keeps him calm for the most part." The Devil takes a sip of his coffee, and sighs in content happiness.

"Hell must not have coffee." Armitage adds two spoonfuls of sugar, stirs, and takes a calculated sip before deeming the coffee enjoyable to drink. Not trusting the Devil, he leans against the counter, and carefully observes the other man. "What's your name?"

"You can call me Poe." A simple name for a seemingly simple man, but the last forty-eight hours have proven otherwise. If he's friends with Kylo then surely he must be as powerful. Yet, the gorgeous features, and messy curly hair could fool anyone. It would be all too easy to fall in love with him. "My original name is in a dialect that's difficult for modern humans to pronounce. Poe is just easy."

"Are you foreign?" It's not meant to be an offensive question as often asked from humans. Poe chuckles as he stands up, and walks over to the coffee maker.

"I'm old is all. Much older than Kylo." He pours himself another cup.

"He mentioned he's the Black Man's Apprentice." Might as well take the opportunity to get to know his Devil in case there're any surprises. Poe drinks from his coffee.

"Snoke? He's the Devil King. Head Devil, Lucifer, whatever you want to call him. Calls the shots, and we obey. Keeps Hell organized which I'm grateful for. I mean, it's Hell, but chaos isn't how you run a business. What made you decide to sign?" It's a casual conversation, perhaps discussed between office cubicles while exchanging files in Hell. Here though, to the human whose life has been singular, it's a weighted question. Armitage feels his mood drop, and he doesn't try to hold onto it. He knows why he signed, and he didn't trust Poe to speak the full truth.

"Selfish motives. I doubt anyone does this for anything else." Poe smiles over his cup.

"Few do, and they end up hating the other person. Happens every time. Some Devils get off on it, but it's useless drama. The amount of favors to bring someone back to life isn't worth it. Love doesn't last forever."

Armitage silently agrees. He thinks back to his mother, and her battle with cancer. Wouldn't any good son be willing to do anything for their mother to live once more? He knows it's not always the case, and he's grateful for his not abandoning or aborting him. She could have been cruel, and she could have been abusive (a flash of Phasma coming to his house with a fresh bruise on her cheek). At the moment of his mother's and Phasma's deaths, he would've said yes to any deal that would bring them back to life. They were all he had left, and now they're dead leaving empty chairs at the dinner table.

"Now that you belong to Kylo Ren, how do you plan on completing your purpose?"

"I don't belong to anyone," Armitage snaps, daring himself to glare at Poe. Be it human pride, or whatever fragile self preservation he had left, Armitage Halloran did not belong to anyone Devil or human. The coffee mugs vanish, and he's suddenly pressed too tightly against the counter. Poe lifts the human's left arm, rolling back the sleeve until the Devil's Mark is shown in the bright afternoon light. He leans forward, and seductively licks the mark. Smoke rises from Poe's tongue, and a strange scent captures the air in a sickly grip as he allowed himself to be burned.

"You belong to Kylo Ren, Master of Devils. I would say just soul, but I can smell him on you." Armitage tries pushing the Devil away, but Poe doesn't budge. Halloran watches as Poe's pupils shift to slits, and there's a pinkish tint in those hazel eyes. Armitage's body reheats the comfortable lust, and it's easy to fall back into it. Poe lifts his head, and is so close to kissing the ginger.

"Will you be mine?" Armitage stares deep into those hypnotic eyes.

"No," he says as he goes to knee the Devil in the stomach, but Poe leaps back; he laughs as his eyes return to normal, and the trance is broken.

"No wonder Kylo likes you so much. Wonder how he found you."

"How he found me indeed." That was a question he would have to bring up with the Devil. Speaking of him, Kylo walks into the kitchen, and ignores the duo. He's in his human form, nude, eyes dark, and hair more of a mess if possible. Mindlessly, he goes straight to the coffee maker, and he seems to debate whether to get a mug or take the pot, and drink its entire liquid content. Armitage rolls his eyes, and gets a mug for the Devil. Kylo takes it. "Morning." The dark haired Devil pours himself coffee then gulps it down in one motion.

"Afternoon," Kylo says, placing a kiss on Armitage's cheek. The human scowls, but there's no heat behind it. Hard to be that way when Kylo had his cock in Armitage's ass not even ten hours ago. "Poe, is there a reason why you were trying to take my Owner away?" Said man shrugs.

"Had to see what he's made of. All of Hell already knows your deal," he explains, leaning against the old fridge. Kylo mumbles something in a dialect Armitage is unsure the language.

"Of course they would. Bet that fat bastard Jabba sold the info for a couple of Superbia too."

"He ain't cheap, that's for sure."

"Superbia? As in from pride? Owners?" Armitage asks. He feels the tendrils of irritation running up his arms, and manages to calm himself. It wasn't anything to get annoyed at; this entire Devil world and its magic is new to him, and soon he'll know how to play their game. If there are indeed other Devils, and if Kylo's reaction is anything to go by, Armitage feels his life may be in danger just by signing the Black Book.

"Superbia are humans who have sold their souls to a Pride Devil," Poe explains. "You signed yours with an Ira Devil."

"A Wrath Devil, hmm."

"I am a Luxuria Devil." Poe winks at Armitage who blushes lightly at the action. "But I don't do Black Books."

"Cause he fucks his clients to death," Kylo slips in, draining the rest of the coffee pot while the other two were talking. "A Luxuria Devil drains the life from their victims through sexual acts."

"An Incubus, if you will."

"Sounds exciting," Armitage monotonous says. "Regardless, I assume by Owner you mean I own Kylo Ren."

"It's why I came to ask why he decided to impulsively do so," Poe inquires, his tone less playful, and taking a hint of seriousness. Kylo waves his hand in a dismissing motion. Poe turns his gaze to Armitage. "There are three types of contracts a Devil makes with a Human or Devil User as is the general term, and it limits the amount of control the User has over the Devil. There's Servant, Associate and Owner. The most common one is Servant as many Users don't read the contract; they're weak-willed and the easiest of contracts. If the User wants to get rid of someone, the Devil will outright murder the target."

"Servants are the biggest whiners in Hell," Kylo interrupts. Poe continues:

"Associates are uncommon. Devil Users demand more control over how they wish to carry out their final wish, and, depending on the Devil, will agree. These tend to be dangerous duos. Owners are highly uncommon, and, yes, Users have complete control over their Devil. When Anakin heard about your deal, he asked if I could check up on you." Kylo picks his head up, eyes wide and childlike in their wonder.

"Anakin asked about me?" Armitage didn't understand this odd ugly feeling developing in his chest; it felt hot and slimy like oil. Jealousy, he assumes quietly, as Kylo's excitement rises. "What else did he say?" The Luxuria Devil rolls his eyes. "He doesn't need me to return, does he?"

"Such a fanboy. Everything is fine. He wanted to make sure you know where your priorities lie." The Ira Devil's face went through a transition of emotions - pain, shock then irritation. His face scrunches up, and he stares hard at Poe. Armitage remains silent; there's a small voice in the back of his mind mumbling incoherent words, but the only ones he can make out are _keep him calm_. Unlike him, he links his right arm with Kylo's left. Sure, Poe is just the messenger, but surely he can relay the message.

"Tell whoever that Kylo's priorities are clear. He is my Devil, and he is mine." The handsome man isn't foolish enough to make a comment or take a step forward. There's a challenge between the three, and it's electrifying. Armitage wasn't sure where this possessive nature was coming from, but he held it like he held Kylo's arm. Perhaps he's spent so long not feeling passion in his soul that he's grasping at the matches to start the fire.

Poe vanishes into a puff of smoke.

After several moments of silence, Kylo goes to the bedroom, and slips on his pants. When he returns to the kitchen, Armitage is standing before the table, the photograph in his left hand. Carefully, the Devil approaches his human, and circles his arms around the ginger's waist. Dark eyes study the old photo with its rough edges.

There's a red head woman - Nora - holding the camera, and smiling widely. She has a kid under each arm, and though they look like they were dragged into taking the photo they smile nonetheless. A teenage Armitage, with the same shade of red hair, and freckles on his pale skin, is wearing a thin frame pair of glasses. Phasma is under the other arm, long blond hair on one side and other side shaved. She looks healthier than what the wish showed Kylo, and happier.

"Why are you attracted to me?" Armitage breaks the silence. "I wasn't angry when you found me on the rooftop." No, just suicidal, and one wrong thought from taking the step off the ledge. Kylo runs his left hand up Armitage's arm, his thumb tracing the hexagon outline of the Devil's Mark. The Devil grins.

"At that moment you weren't, but I can sense it," Kylo's hand slides further up Armitage's arm, and takes the photograph to set it on the open Black Book. He then spins Armitage around, the grin with too many teeth still there. "It's hidden, and I will find it. I will massacre all to spark that fire."

~.~.~

Before he presses the blade into his skin to embellish his skin with scars, he quietly asks for his mother's forgiveness. He's only trying to curb his appetite for drugs, and doesn't know any other outlet. On days and nights when the alcohol isn't enough or he doesn't have enough of it, he takes the unused exacto knife, and presses it into his skin. Not one clean cut as modern television shows and films portray. Not those motivational posters or wallpapers that try to discourage people from self harm. The first cuts are always light, testing the boundary of pain and flesh before he cuts into himself again. Always a little deeper, pressing a little harder so he can see blood peek between redden flesh.

It's addictive - this release. To know he had control over something in his life when all it felt was chaos; thrown into a hurricane one could say. Armitage doesn't know how long he's been doing this, but it's long enough for the faded scars on his body to be recut. The cuts aren't artistic. They're not beautiful, elegant or something to be adored. There're straight lines, and rough crosshatches. The patches reflect Armitage's storm of emotions, and its physical form is wordless. Sometimes he worries he'll cut too deep, and will need stitches, but he drinks more bourbon, and doesn't care. Once he's started, he doesn't stop until something distracts him long enough to pull the blade away.

He's given up wearing clothing that shows too much skin. There's a sort of satisfaction when clothing sticks to the wound, and when he tugs there's pain. He feels his body is grotesque, a sight to be hidden beneath the protective layers of clothing until his skin matches the shade of printing paper.

It's not sexual pleasure, and he doesn't know how to explain it. Masochism he concludes when the scalding water burns fresh wounds or when he presses sharply into the clean cuts. They're reminders of his failures in life, and he hopes his mother is proud of him because he can't be.

The weekend and even Monday were pleasant enough to where he hadn't need to lift the blade, but he had a relapse that Tuesday morning in the shower. He's to met Rey Hux that afternoon, and his mind turns over possible scenarios. Was Brendol going to be there? Was he going to sprout how much of a failure his third child had been, and there was no reason to bring him into the household let alone behold the Hux name. He is a failure as a Halloran and a Hux. When he manages to calm himself down, and the stinging from his fresh leg wound is dulled, Armitage prepares himself for work then later a proper lunch with his half-sister.

As he pulls up to the restaurant, his nerves tingle in his arms, and he inhales slowly.

He is one with the Force. The Force is one with him. It's a shitty mantra, but one that helps him focus his thoughts before meetings. He recalls hearing it as a child in a science fiction film, and it's stuck ever since. Gathering what little courage is there, Armitage enters the establishment, and spots Rey. He sits across from her, but she's too absorbed in whatever she's hastily typing away at her laptop to notice him. A waiter brings him a fresh brew of black coffee, and leaves. As he reaches over for a sugar packet (in the center with the creamers), he notices Rey's own cup has gone untouched.

Her hair is done up in a neat bun, and she's wearing thick glasses. She's dressed professionally, but it's easy to spot the look of tiredness as he's worn that look for years. No doubt there are dark circles under her eyes, concealed beneath makeup, and she's running on gasoline to finish whatever project demands her attention. Armitage chuckles lowly so not to disturb her. They did not grow up together, but he sees their similarities.

Her cell phone beeps, and she spares a glance at it before her brown eyes catch his; she jumps in her chair, and laughs at her own antics. A tired smile graces her face.

"Sorry, was caught up in work," she greets. "Let me save this, and we can have a proper lunch." As she does so, Armitage sips from his tad too sugary coffee. The waiter returns with menus, and it doesn't take the guests long to order; the waiter leaves.

"How long have you been a public defender?" he asks, leaning in the stiff chair. Of course he Googled her. Reyna Hux, a free public defender who volunteered at shelters of all sorts, donated food and clothes, and reunited families whose member have been falsely accused of whatever crime a 'valued member of society' pinned on the unsuspecting person.

"For roughly five years now," she begins. "It's stressful work, and my colleagues think my talents are wasted, but I don't think so. Have you ever seen it? Pure happiness and joy. Parents hugging their children with relief no one is being sent to prison." He thinks back to his own mother, and recalls her smile.

"My mother always smiled," he confesses, sipping his coffee.

"Was it just you and your mother?" A common question; one would assume his mother had a simple one night stand with lasting consequences. It's easy to pick out the remarks of the church people snickering as they peered at Mother's left hand. Smirks from men who thought she was easy. In a sacred or secular setting, people saw him as a little boy who needed a father, and someone to do right by his mother. Mother wasn't a harlot, and didn't need someone to hold her up. Armitage just wanted people to leave them alone.

"My father is dead." The answer kept people from asking more questions, and often left him alone. They would 'oh you poor boy' and that would be the end of it.

"I bet your mother is beautiful. Mine was like sunshine." Was. So, her mother is dead too. Armitage nods.

"Mine is deceased as well." Never dead. It's been nine years, and he refuses to say those words. Rey's eyes widen, and her smile saddens. Maybe another time they can bond over their mother's deaths, but it's far too personal for a luncheon.

"Armitage, I didn't invite you to lunch to discuss a silly Christmas party. I want to tell you something." She knows. He nods for her to continue. "You're my brother. Half-brother. Brendol Hux is our father." There's silence between them for a minute.

"I know," he finally says. It's a simple statement, but not one Rey thought to hear. Her face expresses shock, and she waits for him to continue. "I want nothing to do with the Hux corporation. I've known Leia, Hannibal and you to be my half siblings."

"How long?" Fifteen years he wants to say. It was just after one of Mother's lungs was taken out after its extensive damage, she handed him a sealed letter. Inside contained a photograph and a letter. It was a photo of Brendol and Nora during their younger years; all smiles and young love. Occasionally, he would study the photo, and remember his mother's smiling face before the chemotherapy drained her. He has only read the letter once, and only after she died.

"Long enough to make a difference," he says instead. "I don't need money-" Yes, he did. Overdue and high interest rate student loans and unpaid medical bills gobbled his meager paycheck barely leaving enough for rent and other expenses. "Or prestige-" Yes, he did. His company could expand and they could move into an actual building where there's plenty of room for the servers, and the employees not stacked up on each other, and there would be donuts every morning. "Or the Hux name." That, he could do without. He's done well enough over thirty years without the surname, and he would die with his mother's maiden name.

Rey did something odd - she smiles and softly giggles. It's light, and feels whimsical like she's casting a spell. "When Finn told me about you, I hardly believed his words. Seems you and I are the exception to the heritage of Huxes." The waiter returns with their orders, and the siblings begin to eat.

"Please clarify what you mean." Rey swallows, and puts down her fork.

"Dad told me every Hux must uphold two traits - pride-" She holds up her right index finger signaling the first trait. "A Hux will do whatever it takes for the sake of upholding the name in a respectable manner. We are to be accomplishing members of society, and etch our place in history. We shall not disgrace the name. The second finger goes up. "And patience. A Hux does not waste their time on trivial matters. We wait, we gather, and we act. We are not impulsive. Then there's the matter with Devils." She goes back to her meal as though the mention of Devils is a common subject in casual conversation.

Armitage shouldn't be surprised, but he's slightly shocked at the new information. "Does every Hux have a Devil?" Rey has divulged this much information, and he wonders how much more he can gather without seeming too eager. She takes a gulp of her coffee.

"It's tradition as Dad says, but I don't have a reason to have one. Leia and Han had theirs before I met them. They don't like me much, but whatever. Padmé and Boba are nice to have conversations with when their Owners aren't busy. I've hung around Devils since I was a child. I can spot a Devil User anywhere. Doesn't help the few in the city are in politics."

This isn't good news. Leia held a tight grip on the politics of the city. All information Armitage has been given is second hand, and muddled, but the Devil part explains why many of her proposals are passed without too much hindrance. Her youthful beauty attracting attention from those who sought her hand in marriage, and she used it to its utmost power. Hannibal 'Han' is a different story. He runs a successful expensive liquor business that exports to other countries, and no doubt a cover up for whatever else he does in the Red Light District. The few rumors Armitage has heard of Han involves prostitution and gambling; a playboy with an endless appetite for money, adventure and women.

It's well known there's tension between the eldest siblings. Brendol Hux is said to retire soon, and everyone believes he'll hand the company and its assets to Leia, but Han has caused a fuss claiming he has better business sense.

Wait…

"Before you met them? You have different mothers?" Rey nods.

"In his younger days, Dad couldn't keep it in his pants. Either that or his condoms kept breaking. By all technicality, we're all half-siblings. I don't know about their situation, but Mom couldn't afford to keep me, and there were other problems. She reached out to Dad as a last resort, and gave him full custody." She picks at her food, reminiscing on childhood memories, and happier days as a child. "She made him promise to take good care of me. He treats me differently than Leia and Han. He's not the same man he shows the media." Rey lifts her head, and smiles at Armitage. "I wondered if Dad fathered any other kids, and that's how I found you."

"Why now?" He needs to know. It's too weird and coincidentally to make a contract with a Devil then a family member wants to play reunion. Why now when his mother is dead, Phasma is dead, and he feels his life crumbling away at half ass reasons to get out of bed in the morning. He doesn't care if he sounds desperate, irritated or pitiful. Why after all these years? Is this Brendol's idea?

Rey smiles that sad sort of smile you see on a child's face. Right now, she doesn't look to be in her early twenties, and ready to conquer the courtroom with facts and questions that freeze her opponents preventing them from making a quick comeback. Armitage knows that look too. It's the same one he made when the doctors told Mother about the cancer, and the few treatments available. It's the smile a child makes to try to be a big boy, and pretend it doesn't hurt when they realize all too soon someone precious to them is being taken away by an unseen and unforgiving force.

"I want to spend Christmas with my family," she finally speaks. It's soft like a child praying to whatever god will listen to them. The sort of plot one sees in Hallmark and inspiration films where the child's wish is magically granted, and everything has a happy ending. Plots that do not happen in reality.

And he understands.

Armitage pictures a child Rey sitting beside an over-decorated Christmas tree in the expansive Hux household. There's no one there to open the metallic wrapped presents with her. His apartment had a scrawny tree with popsicle frames of child drawings and a paper star at the top. Whatever Santa brought him, he shared with Mother; always a single present. One year was a sketchbook, the next new graphite pencils; something small anyone could purchase at the local superstore. They didn't have much, but what they did have meant more to Armitage than anything else.

"Okay," he says at last, and smiles a little. "We'll have Christmas together." The happiness radiating from Rey melts a little of Armitage's frosted heart.

~.~.~

The short sex scene was not planned, but it happened.

The colors portrayed in Armitage's soul are aura colors. Not sure how _accurate_ they are, but it seemed like a fun idea at 2 AM.

If I ever see Oscar Isaac in real life I would melt into a puddle of goo.

So the empty chairs at the dinner table is a personal reference. When I worked in printing retail, a woman and I were having a discussion about suicide. Her son committed suicide, and she goes to different schools talking about the empty chair at the dinner table. Though not written intentionally in the initial draft, I felt I had to include it, and explain down here.

Leave a comment? Review? Please?


	4. His Devil, Training

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, and who else is excited about Episode VIII?

Author's Note: I apologize for the long wait. Jedi Daniel and I have been working out the timeline on what exactly I want to happen, and we've got the key points down. Is there a specific issue/self-harm you want me to cover?

Warnings: Self hate and descriptive self harm (cutting). Mention of someone drowning.

 **~.~.~**

 **Chapter 4**

 **His Devil, Training**

 **~.~.~**

Ambulance and police sirens bounce off steel walls scaring the parents who hope not another murder occurring in their neighborhood. No guns go off so the residents can only conclude it's another car accident from people speeding down 45 MPH streets. It's easy to release the sigh of relief, and know they'll hear the story in the morning along with an updated report on how many vehicle accidents occur each year.

Is it savagery that forces a person to write off another person's life simply because they are no longer considered _valid_? Compassion and sadness buried away, and replaced by the sheer inconvenience and how dare a car accident happen on the way to work, and now all four lanes are backed up.

Kylo changes the channel, and finds one that seems interesting at least so he leans back into the bed frame. Dark eyes fixed on the bright screen as actors exchange inside jokes. From the corner of his eye, he observes Armitage in the living room as he stands in front of an easel. The human hasn't moved in thirty minutes. Kylo flops to his left side, and cycles through the channels again until he comes upon an old film from the early 1920s.

It's not a particularly frightening one, but perhaps it was back in those days. A German silent film starring a vampire with pointy buck teeth. It's a terrible film by today's standards with a worse plot, but he sets the remote down. Kylo glances at his human again.

Armitage stares at one of his old canvases, his mind busy with constructing the image he wants to paint, and old memories recollecting the knowledge of how to accomplish the task. The canvas isn't anything special, a simple 18x24, gridded with a storm blue gesso. He can't remember what he originally wanted to do with it, but that's fine all the same. Trinkles of inspiration would tease him, but once he picked up the brush it would hide. It use to frustrate him, but now it just depresses him.

To his left is a large low table piled with tubes of oil paints, brushes, and a stained palette someone would recognize from the _Joy of Painting with Bob Ross._ There's bottles of oil, gloss varnishes and others; some new and others almost empty. Out of place is an old large shirt with some obscure band splattered and stained with all kinds of paint. As odd as it sounds, Armitage felt like his old self in that shirt with its poignant scent of oil paint taking him back to college days when everything seemed okay.

Painting isn't his strength, but there's something primitive and basic enjoyment about it. On a computer, it's all digital making it foreign and unpersonal. Only when it's printed and comes to life does the art hold value, but online it means nothing.

Nothing like the Italian Renaissance when artists crushed gems for color, and painting took months and years to complete portraits. To stare at old paintings composed of gold foil can bring a person to a higher stance of religious and political freedom will speak more than the thirty fourth Pepsi icon. Nobody (willingly) studies art and writes papers on the evolution of brand icons. Every artist begins with history in its most primitive and basic forms as all humans begin experiencing it.

Kylo walks behind Armitage, and wraps his arms around the human. Normally, Armitage doesn't like it when people touch him, and Kylo had no issue with invading personal space. There was no sense arguing with the Devil, and it wasn't a battle that needed to be fought.

They stayed like that for a while. It's late, and Kylo could hear the neighbor upstairs having sex on a squeaky bed.

"What is Hell like?" Armitage questions, left hand twirling a 12 size round brush.

"What do you think it looks like?" Kylo asks back, curious of the answer.

"I imagine since making a deal with you that I'll be skewered alive over an open fire. My regrets taking form of spikes to pierce my soul until I'm overcome with more self hatred than I already have." Quite a confession. Kylo rests his head on Armitage's right shoulder. The scenery itself looks loving like they were indeed a couple rather than master and slave, found by not a red thread of fate, but blood and paper.

"Kind of. It depends on who is Commander, and their mood. I've always found slow torture to be the best method. Psychological. I want my humans to roast." Kylo slips his right hand beneath Armitage's button up, and casually runs a thumb over an old scar. The Devil picks his head up enough to whisper into the other's ear. "Luxuria, Gula and Avarita bring out the basic needs of mankind. Acadia redirects their fate. Ira and Invidia-" Ren bites the earlobe as his right hand grips a little harder; the left sneaking its way up, and gripping a percoral. Armitage drops the brush, the possessiveness Kylo radiates welcoming in its own strangeness. "Seasons the flavor of the soul. All that hate built up just-" The red head is suddenly picked up, and carried to the bedroom.

~.~.~

It's early in the morning, and customer service is backed up collecting new orders. Businesses are in a panic trying to get their websites updated, and photos and prices reflecting the latest sale. The entire company busies themselves with plenty of work to be done, and no time for breaks. It's easy to ignore those unimportant at the moment, and focus on the task.

Luke politely knocks on Armitage's door before letting himself inside. He sets a bottled water and two pain killers on the desk before taking a seat. The President gives a tired smile, and graciously swallows the pain killers before downing it with water.

"Thank you," he says, leaning against his chair.

"How are you doing?" Luke asks, folding his hands in his lap. Polite conversation between coworkers, but it's something else. Luke is aware of Armitage's problems, the surface, and maybe a bit beneath the flayed layers of icy protection the General puts around himself. Luke has been there before, been beneath the surface, and deeper. Likewise, Armitage is aware of the surface problems Luke has and had. Familiar territory, and not one to easily treked.

"Slightly better, I suppose," Armitage finally replies. He thinks back to the past week - lunch with Reyna, the contract, Poe and Kylo. It's easy to become self absorbed in the daily life of a human being, and the days become lost to time. But the cutting… the multiple forms of self harm from the alcohol and drugs takes the person in the moment, and time almost stops. "Worse in one aspect, better in another, depending on the state of mind." They're silent for a few minutes. "Hey Luke… are you busy after work?"

Luke smiles that coded smile, a sage smile. "Nothing that can't be rescheduled."

"Do you want to go for a drink? After work?" _Will you let me voice my problems?_ "Arkanis has a new drink, and it's good from what I've heard."

"Let's do it. Say six thirty if we can get out of here in time?" They agree, and Luke leaves.

Armitage slowly exhales. He made the meeting, gathering, appointment, whatever it was to be called. Halloran continues his work. Okay, he can do this. He can talk to Luke. They've known each other for years, and Luke confessed to a shadow of his dark past during the interview process. He trusted Luke. He can do this. Confident, he uses the afternoon catching up on emails, and replying to urgent ones. Some clients are being pressured to go with other companies for a cheaper price, and it's worrying.

Lunch time just ended when Finn is the next to knock on his door.

"Mr. Halloran, the temps are here." Armitage pauses his typing to look up.

"Temps?" Finn steps inside, and Armitage's eyes narrow. Poe and Kylo enter, both looking like they're in their early 20s, fresh out of college with the world at their fingertips. They're dressed in matching slacks with crisp button-ups, and both don glasses. Finn continues, holding paperwork in his hands.

"Benjamin Solo is going to help Luke on back orders," Finn says, motioning to his right then motions to his left. Benjamin Solo? Such a normal and plain name for a Devil to use to go undercover. "Poe Dameron is helping me." Armitage nods, folding his hands beneath his chin. Professionalism kicks in, and now he wonders what the two Devils are up to. He cycles through his memories, and can find no evidence to support why these two should be here.

"Very well. I would like to have a moment with them in private." Finn nods and leaves, shutting the door behind him. "Please, gentlemen, have a seat." Once they do, Armitage's face turns serious. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I think the better question is, don't we look great?" Poe replies casually like his appearance could make the world a brighter place (and maybe it did for those who appreciate the physical attributes just a bit more).

"Don't play coy with me Luxuria. This space is my realm." He turns to Ben. "Our contract doesn't stipulate for you to be at my workplace."

"For the events that will surely come, you will need me by your side," Ben replies.

"Do you two know anything of the industry?" Ben points to Poe with his left thumb.

"Poe does." Said man playfully winks, and answers:

"This old man knows a few tricks."

"I was gonna wing it. Can't be that hard." It's Armitage's turn to smirk.

"Very well." Armitage dismisses them, and makes a note to speak to Finn and Luke on their progress later.

~.~.~

Poe handles everything with ease. If asked, he's being doing this for over a hundred years, earning a polite laugh from the IT department. They're a quirky bunch, predominantly male with a sprinkle of females, each with their own obsessive fandom tattooed to their assigned desks. There's slang, competitions and friendly debates, but it's definitely the most beloved department, and it's because of Finn Blythe. Phasma hired him years ago, and Armitage doesn't know the full answer. Cassandra gave her partner a knowing smile. He didn't question her then, and he doesn't now.

Dameron is marvelous - handsome, a bewitching smile, and a voice that could recite the dictionary and it would be perfectly fine.

Ben Solo hated it.

It's not obvious, and there's not a twitch out of place, but Armitage can feel it beneath the surface of his skin. It's itchy and hot, and at first he doesn't understand why he feels this way. Halloran glances every few minutes, and it's easy to spot the towering dark stature. Some Interactive Media people are getting frustrated at Ben, but Luke remains steadfast calm. There's endless patience, and a sort of calm that can't be taught by others.

Armitage catches Poe glancing as well.

Halloran felt he should be worried if Ben gets angry, but with Luke, he isn't.

~.~.~

It's nearing closing hours when Reyna Hux knocks on her father's door before turning the doorknob and walking in. The secretary already notified the President otherwise the automatic security locks would have prevented entry. The office is large, meant to bring pride to those who excelled in their task by bringing product and evidence to the judge before them. Or, a walk of shame as they stroll down what could be their executioner. It's sparse of personal belongings, the temperature cold, and there's a feeling of eyes watching your back. There's a large family portrait of the previous president, wife and their two children - teenagers, male and female respectfully - hanging behind the president.

Reyna is dressed in professional garb, and hair tied in one neat bun. She's radiates confidence, and that Hux aura nobody could deny. She looks at her father, his crew cut hair salt-and-cinnamon, an expensive suit, and the human impression of an expressionless statue. In front of the camera, he can manage a few smiles to promote a new program for the Hux Charity events. But, for Hux Corporation, he is a godless man.

Floating in empty space to Brendol's right is his Devil - (former) Emperor Palpatine. He could pass as Reyna's grandfather what with his crooked smile on his wrinkly face, but there's no mistake that there's multiple layers beneath that smile. He spent his years ruling an empire that came to an end when his heir murdered him, and burned the body.

"It's good to see you Reyna," Palpatine comments. "I wish your siblings were kind enough to visit us. You're such a good daughter."

"Thank you, Emperor," Reyna answers as she puts a manila folder on Brendol's desk before taking a seat.

"Reyna," Brendol interrupts, "how was your meeting with Armitage?" She smiles.

"I'm not sure what I expected, but he's truly your son," she says, the smile growing brighter. "He looks like you when you were younger. He's coming to the Christmas party so you'll be able to meet him in person." The man nods and opens the folder. Basic information making it look like Armitage was applying for a job at Hux Corporation in case the folder landed in the wrong hands. There's a recent photo of the young man, a frown marring his handsome features, and Brendol can spot the features from Armitage's mother in that young man.

"What information have you gathered?" All business, no play. The smile from Reyna's face fades.

"Financially, he's in heavy debt. Student loans and medical bills, both of high interest rates. He took them out when the last president destroyed the health care system, and private loans offered enough to cover expenses. He's floating, barely. Professionally, he does well. First Order Designs is slowly expanding. No legal problems. If we chose to buy him out it would be easy."

"How is he doing? Does he have friends? Other family members?" Palpatine inquires.

"Halloran is a very private person," Reyna continues. "His social media is only connected to his business, and tutorials for beginning graphic designers, but he hasn't updated them in years. He doesn't have any offspring. My informants told me his last relationship was six years ago, and lasted almost a year. He had a few relationships in his earlier years, but nothing worth noting. His former business partner, Cassandra Phasma, committed suicide two years ago. Drug overdose. They've been together since their early teenage years."

"Who is Cassandra to Armitage?"

"Her real name is Gwendolyn Karath. Norma Halloran became her guardian and took her into hiding after the Karath family was murdered seventeen years ago. Armitage and her grew up as siblings, but she never took the Halloran name. They lived in mainly Alderaan until Norma died ten years ago from lung cancer."

"What do we know about his Devil?" Brendol interrupts, leaning against his leather chair.

"Kylo Ren," Palpatine begins, taking over, "is the second Devil's Apprentice. Snoke recruited him some hundred human years ago. I have no clue why Snoke would take an interest in your son. He's a man of strict tradition, but he's bent rules for that young man." Brendol felt a flicker of pride that one of his three cursed children caught a Devil of such rank. Padmè and Boba are powerful in their own right, but a Devil's Apprentice is unheard of. "It's not he needs Sinfuls."

"If Apprentices do not require souls then what is their purpose?" Reyna asks, "neither Boba, Padmé or you have spoken of them."

"Their true purpose is to become the next Devil King. Snoke once had ten Apprentices, and only one remains - Anakin. The King has kept a very tight lid on their duties aside from terrorizing the rest of Hell like Kylo enjoys doing so much."

Brendol leans back in his chair, hands entwined as he ponders on the new information. Why did it take him this long to find out about his own son? 

"There is something else, Father," Reyna interrupts. "First Order Designs has a contract with Krennic's Project Celestial." Brendol ever so slightly narrowed his eyes at the words. Orson Krennic and Brendol Hux have a private history that neither wanted to make public. Despite this, Orson sits on the board, and given huge tax breaks due to his donations with Hux Charity. Project Celestial is one of the largest printing companies this side of the country, and it's common for smaller companies to make contracts to save time, money and equipment.

"If Armitage is the spitting image of you Brendol then it wouldn't be difficult for Krennic to connect the dots," Palpatine concludes. "It's best if we remove him from the scene completely." The Emperor and Reyna look at the President for confirmation on their next move. The man leans forward, voice stern and commanding like in his military days.

"Reyna, inform Leia and Han that Krennic will be planning something, and we should be prepared. His Death Trooper Devil has lackeys that could outnumber us quickly if we're not careful. I'll have a solid plan before the Christmas party next Friday. If he truly seeks to gain the approval of the board he'll go after Bindo and Goto first. Qui-Gon and Mon won't be as easily convinced."

~.~.~

It's nearly sunset, and the warm colors slip between heavy curtains to peek into the lavish bedroom. If a stranger accidentally wanders into this room, the first thing they'll notice are exuberant awards, honors and diplomas lining the walls. The room itself is coated in soft colors, and it's easy to get lost in the simple comfort it brings. Tasteful furniture dots the room, and everything is in its proper place.

Leia Hux, one of the youngest politicians in the city, lies on her bed with her unbraided hair spread beneath her, and if her hair was gold instead of brown it would make her look like an angel. She is nude, and the woman on top of her is too. Padmé whispers chants, her equally dark hair creating a curtain over the two to hide the words ghosting over the creamy skin of Leia's stomach. Though none, but Padmé can witness the transformation, the beginning wrinkles of age reform into smooth youthful skin. It's a slow process, and not meant to be hasten as former contracts would otherwise voice. Padmé finishes, and kisses a path up until she meets Leia's soft pink lips.

The women kiss, and it's loving in a way they cannot explain. Though they are bare, there is no arousal to be felt. Leia reaches up, left arm circling Padmé's waist to bring their bodies closer. Small breasts press against each other. Padmé breaks the kiss, both opening their eyes, and gaze at each other.

"Your mind is busy," Padmé speaks, her voice soft. "Relax."

"You always tell me to relax," Leia replies, moving to sit up, but still wants Padmé close.

"Enjoy the moment. Youth should not be wasted, and it's not like we get these chances back." Padmé is ever so slightly taller, and it's easy to fall into the calm dominance she silently portrays. They kiss, and Leia tries to concentrate on the feeling of cool copper scales rubbing against her thighs. The scales are smooth and flat, but when Padmé uses her Devil abilities they become thick and strengthen like metal.

The politician's personal cell phone buzzes several times, and Leia feels complied to not answer, and continue kissing. Padmè becomes annoyed at the buzzing, and breaks the kiss to snatch it. It's Reyna, and she has personal news to deliver from Brendol.

"I'll get the door," Padmè states, getting up, and snatches a silk robe to slip onto her body. It's easy to fall into temptation as the woman casually strolls to the door like she's to greet her lover. The robe does nothing to hide the curvy body, and it's easy to forget that Padmè is a Devil. To slip beneath the layer of innocence, and wish for a peaceful existence so long as the radiant beauty is there would give anyone hope, and perhaps religion does exist.

Padmè opens the door, and Reyna stands there with a bright smile on her face. The two embrace and exchange pleasant greetings as Padmè guides the younger woman into the living room. Leia, in a house robe all too comfortable, and a glass of wine in her right hand, glances at Reyna like she's a stranger rather than a sister.

"Hux sent you as his messenger girl again?" The remark isn't called for, and Leia knows this is how Brendol operates. Reyna is Brendol's favorite, and now a new sibling is in the mix. Another half-breed. Taking a sip of her wine, Leia sees Reyna's smile falter, but surely the girl is used to such comments.

"Father says to be ready for Krennic. He seeks Jolee's and Goto's approval first to try to win over the board."

"Krennic _thinks_ he has Goto. That man isn't on anyone's side. The only reason he's on our payroll is to keep Han in line."

"Goto has connections with the police department and other legal matters making him valuable to our company. It's because of Goto that we're able-"

"Do not lecture me on the value of that Nar Shaddaa garbage. I don't trust that man not to blackmail us if he becomes stuck."

"Why do you constantly see the evil in people?"

"Because not all of us live in a fantasy world where the good triumphs evil. This isn't one of your science fiction movies you love so much," Leia says with distaste, and decides the wine isn't suitable to cover up the bile she's tasting.

"Every time you two talk there's always an argument on the rise," Padmè comments, used to the sisters. "Back to the matter at hand, there's only so much a Devil can do. Boba is one of the best hunters Hell has, but humans are terribly unpredictable."

"Han will get himself killed once he diverts from his role," Leia off-handedly says, refilling her glass with stronger wine. She takes a sip before turning to Reyna. "Have you told Han?"

"No, Leia," Reyna replies. Her lips press tightly together, and she wants to say something else, but chooses not to speak it.

"Go. Leave." The dismissal is harsh, and Reyna spins to leave. "Do you have a date for the party?" Reyna pauses and turns to look at Leia's back. "It's in your best interest to have one, and not that boy from the slums. You're a Hux. Act like one."

"His name is Finn." Reyna leaves, the door shutting quietly behind her. Padmè chuckles.

"Always so harsh to the poor dear," she speaks.

"If I had been an only child this would all be different. If their mothers hadn't come forward my destiny wouldn't be this. They don't hold the responsibility of politics and wellbeing of this company in their hands. If Brendol dies I am heir, and Lord knows this company and Hux Charity will fall if those two get it."

"But you want to be like them. Free to do whatever you want." Padmè rises from the couch, and the silk robe falls to the ground. Copper scales thicken, and the upper portion of her face reveal traces of burn marks.

"Brendol doesn't care what those two do. I am the one who secures the deals for Hux Charity. I am the one who keeps Han out of the papers and jail. My politics are the reason why Brendol and the board is able to get away with such huge tax breaks. Soon I'll be able to take Goto down, and once that happens I can clean this city. I will become President of Hux Corporation and Hux Charity. I will become the sole heir."

Padmè's pupils shift to a yellow hue as she stands facing Leia, untying the robe as the woman talks, and letting it drop to the floor.

"And Armitage?" Padmè asks gently, knowing the answer to the question, but wanting to hear it once more. Leia's sharp hazel eyes stare into yellow slits. There's something almost loving between the two women, but is it true or a trick of the light?

"You can have him. Tear his flesh to bath in his blood like you use to do with maidens. I will not have anymore half breeds in my way."

~.~.~

Armitage didn't always have friends. He doesn't know how to maintain them. Even growing up with Cassandra, she had her own group of friends. He knew people questioned her about him:

Why is he so weird?

Why does he dress like that?

Why doesn't he talk? Can he?

He's always been awkward, and sits in the back of the class. He knows it's because the teacher doesn't favor him, and he doesn't come from money. It wasn't like this at his last school; he was happy, and had friends, but they had to move for Mother's treatments. He hates this new school, hates the kids and the teachers, and he wants them to cease to exist.

Cassandra knows what's going on, but she doesn't say a word. Perhaps she's partly to blame, but she's dead so it doesn't matter now.

Now, as an adult who has faced former bullies, Armitage is faced with the life-struggling decisions of how to keep friends because he doesn't know how. He knows how to write a plethora of emails convincing clients to stay in business with him, but can't even strike up a conversation with a stranger.

He supposes he and Luke are friends. They've been in business together for several years now, but the pressure of maintaining such is overwhelming at the moment. Armitage had excused himself to the bathroom, and sits on the toilet, pants and boxers down to reveal scared up skin. Some areas are soft and pink from previous abuse. There's a few lines from a couple of days ago.

He's careful when screwing in a fresh blade into the X-Acto knife's barrel, making sure it's tight enough. It's easy to pick a fresh spot, and begin cutting. There's something… not erotic pleasure, but self gratifying with a fresh blade as it slices into flesh. He continues cutting - cross hatching, and ignores the stinging from the blade causing blood to peek between irritated skin. He has to keep the pressure light because the fresh blade can cut too deep, and he doesn't want to make the marks known.

He can leave. He can make an excuse, and leave before Luke asks too many questions, but Armitage made the effort to talk to someone about his problems. He needs help. He's spent far too long with the problems in his head. Ironic how when he's sold his soul that now he needs help. Perhaps it's self preservation in its own humanistic form. Halloran doesn't notice his left hand scratching the old wounds until the dead skin flakes and the skin reddens causing further damage.

He deserves this, he thinks, pressing the blade a little deeper. He wants more blood. He wants to see the physical punishment for his sins and crimes that only he could serve. Nobody else is controlling the knife. Why couldn't he quit being such a dumbass and ask for help? Why couldn't Mother be alive? Why couldn't he save Cassandra? Why can't he have some actual self-confidence and quit doubting himself?

Armitage wants the scars. He needs the constant reminders of how he fucked up his life, and how fucked up it is because the pain is something he can control. These thoughts cause him to take the knife, and he wants to press a little deeper.

Somebody loudly enters the bathroom causing Armitage to jerk from his trance. Listening, it's just a random dude going to take a piss. Blinking, the ginger studies his cuts, and is thankful his dark slacks will cover any blood stains. The cuts aren't severe to warrant stitches; some medicine and bandages and they'll heal up fine. They'll scab over, or at least will try to, until he begins picking at it, and digging his nails into the wounds, and scratch until they becomes angry. It's whatever. He'll deal with them later.

By the time the other guy leaves, Armitage resituates himself back to presentation standard. It's not safe or wise to keep a bloody blade on his person or mixed with the others in the plastic box so he tosses it into the trash bin, and slips the handle into his trouser pocket. The pain in his left thigh brings a small smile to his face because it keeps him grounded in the present, and why he's doing this.

Okay, he can do this now. He can talk to Luke.

"I am one with the Force," Armitage chants to himself in a hush whisper as he dries his hands and exits the bathroom. He returns to the two-person bar table, and sees Luke is trying to distract himself by watching whatever sport is on the many television screens bolted to the walls and ceilings. When the ginger takes his seat back, Luke switches his attention.

"How's Wedge? I haven't seen him lately," the red head politely asks, taking a gulp of his ale. Wedge Antilles-Skywalker often had lunch with his husband, and it's embarrassingly cute the way the two act around each other. Armitage would never admit to being jealous of their relationship. Truly, he's happy Luke has Wedge, and the man smiles that goofy smile of someone in love.

"He's well. Training some new people down at the military station, but he'll be around tomorrow." There's a small frown, but it dissipates. Armitage knows it deals with the unsteady politics of the world, and the threat of war drawn to conversations quicker than before.

"Luke, I didn't ask you here just for drinks. I…" The younger man grips his bottle a little tighter. _I am one with the Force. The Force is one with me._ "I need help," he blurts out, forcing himself to look from the bottle to Luke. "I'm fucking up real bad." There. He said something in this unromantic scenery of a bar for personal confessions, but the crowd is loud enough to not be heard by others; but the matter at hand isn't suppose to be romantic or attention seeking.

Luke hesitates for a moment, unsure how to reply on the sensitive subject. Everyone is different in how they want or will accept help. To simply say it'll be okay isn't enough nor will it ever be. For some, there's no recovery.

"It's nearing her birthday," Luke says instead, touching the topic of Cassandra. Phasma, yes, that's a good starting point. Armitage could work forward or backward on that. With clarity he realized her birthday is at the end of January. The older man has to be careful where he steps now. He's known the two since the beginning of their business, and it's the brightness and determination in Halloran's eyes is what convinced the aged man to give the two their first loan to start the business. "Death never gets easier. You just learn to live each day accepting that the person is gone. It's how we handle it is what makes or breaks a man. I knew Cassandra was doing drugs, but she wouldn't accept my help."

Of course not. Cassandra 'Captain' Phasma rarely accepted anyone's help. That's how the abuse started, and why she dropped out of university. She became so isolated that she barely trusted her subordinates until Finn came along.

"She didn't accept mine either," Armitage agrees, taking a gulp of his drink. He didn't accept her help either, but that was for another time.

"We all have our demons to face. Let's remember the good times with our friends, and cherish their memories."

"How do you do it?" How are you not haunted by them the young man wants to ask. Luke is silent for a few minutes, finishing his beer and signaling for another one. A waitress brings another, and removes the empty one.

"You know I use to be a drug dealer. Cocaine, weed, pills, whatever was trendy," Luke begins, chugging half the bottle before continuing. "I made a lot of friends in that world. A lot of enemies too. Friends dying over bricks of snow, and gang wars over turfs. I watched a lot of good people die." Armitage a little of this when he was forced to do background checks on his employees. Luke glossed over the exact details of what happened, but he's been clean for almost ten years with references and even a (then) recent drug test to worth his credit. "I see them - my friends - on stranger's faces. In clients. In my dreams. I learned over the years that you have to accept their death. If you let them control you, you become a ghost.

"One of my old buddies… tall dark skin fellow, he couldn't speak a word of English, and he didn't want to. Guy looked like he could be a wrestler or MMA fighter. Anyways, we're out in South America for a trade, taking the scenic route, and stop by this village. All the adults are scared shitless of this man, but the kids? They run over and climb over him, swinging from his arms and tugging his thick legs to play with them."

"Did he play with the kids?"

"He did. I haven't seen him since I was incarcerated. Deal went wrong, and there's guns and cops and blood. He got injured, and I got arrested before knowing what happened to him. I don't even know if he's alive. I don't keep in touch with anyone in that world anymore. I won't even go near the Red Light District in case someone recognizes me. No social media or anything. There's plenty of bad blood, and being a hermit has its perks." Luke chuckles at the memories, and misses his friend dearly.

"How do you cope with losing a dear friend?" The old man with the trimmed beard smiles.

"Chewy liked camping. I go three times a year, and remember the good times. It was something we enjoyed doing together even on runs. It's hard, it's always gonna be hard. An old man like me crying in the middle of the woods is a sad sight, but I force myself to go. I accept the events that happened, and move on. It's how I cope."

Armitage ponders on Cassandra's hobbies as he sips his ale.

~.~.~

The professional clothing is discarded into the hamper with little care. A Netflix show is playing in the background as Rey puts on a casual outfit that'll help her blend in with the Red Light District. Hair down, fake colored extensions, and a quick slap of makeup later, it'll be hard to recognize her without being up close. It's not who she truly is, but it's close enough to where she can downplay the defense lawyer and heiress to a fortune to be someone normal. She tells the portrait of her mother goodbye before leaving the apartment.

It's easy to blend into the night civilian life as she boards the last city bus heading downtown where night walkers sit solemnly. Most keep to themselves though there's an elderly man in the back laughing to himself over a joke exchanged between him and a coworker. Later, as she steps off the bus, and strolls down the busy street, is the world a different place.

Drugs and crime do not dwell only at night, but it's easier to hide in the shadows for those who want to maintain secrets of their own away from family and friends. It's easy to pretend that it's another persona taking over as the user snorts crack or injects heroine. By sunrise they'll promise they won't do it again, but when nightfall comes it's a different story. Not everyone does drugs.

Politicians playing God pretend the problem exists only at night, and movies create the scenario that clubs and bars are simply fronts for the heavier operations; they beg for donations and resources to help cure the cancer that cannot be eradicated for there's simply not enough education or police to maintain the stability. Maybe it's the politician's fault - holding justice in their hand like a soldier does a sword, but swinging the wrong way.

Music blasts from nearby clubs as lines of young people seek entrance. Bouncers thick with muscle guard the doors as glittered neon people laugh in drunken madness. Bachelorettes and their entourage dance down the streets, dick decorations adore their bodies like badges of honor. Across the street, it's easy to hear the guitars echoing with unclear lyrics from the singer.

Rey's attention drifts to the man beside her. Boba is silent, dark skin reflecting the bright lights, and hair combed back and kept out of the way. His suit, dark gray and expensive, makes him look like he belongs in the yakuza. There's probably at least three guns, four knives and other creative weaponry hidden on his person. Boba is dangerous without his Devil abilities. People make room for the couple, and even the drunks somber enough to step aside.

"Evening, Boba," she greets, a smile on her face. He nods, never one for much talking. "Everyone seems happy. I take it business is good." Boba nods again. She doesn't expect a full blown conversation, having grown up with the silent shadow trailing after her older brother. He's kind and respectful nonetheless.

"Han is in the Millennium Falcon," Boba states, his voice smooth and deep. "He's made room in his schedule for your visit." Rey couldn't help the smile that spreads on her face as the bounty hunter guides her to the private club further down the street. Memories of Han teaching her mechanics and swear words brought back pleasant feelings (except for when she got soap in the mouth).

Upon arrival at the club, the bouncer lets them in, and Boba guides Rey to the back left corner where Han is sitting with a beer in his left hand. He gets up, and he and Rey exchange hugs and pleasant greetings as they take a seat at the booth. Boba remains standing, back facing the two as he scans the crowd searching for potential threats. The music doesn't pound as loudly in this corner, and it's easier to exchange information without worrying about being overheard.

"What does dear ole dad want to say to me this time?" Han asks, straight to the point as he sips his beer. "Do you want anything to drink?" His hair is disheveled, and

"Dad believes Krennic wants to overtake the board, and he'll try to gain the final votes at the Christmas party," Rey replies. "I'll just take a soda. I can't stay late tonight."

"That goddamn Christmas party. Leia's been up my ass about it since October, and I could care less about it like I do every year." Han signals for a drink, and a bartender is quick to bring a soda to Rey. "Did she bug you to bring a date?" Rey sighs and nods. "Bring that kid… the one that does computer stuff. What's his name…?"

"Finn. He fixed your computer when you spilled malt on it a month ago, remember?"

"Ah, that kid. Good kid."

"Leia says I shouldn't."

"Fuck Leia. She ain't you, and she'll bring some geezer with a hard on for politics. If she had a dick she would always be erect for that shit." They cringe at the mental image and laugh. "You can't listen to everything she says. Leia's got some shit going on, and she tries to act like a general in the military or some shit. Hell, if Dad let her she probably would be." He takes a gulp of his beer, and finishes it. "Look Rey, you gotta live your life. You're a good kid with a good job and a good reputation. Don't be like me or Leia. Especially Leia." The bartender returns, and trades bottles for a fresh cold one. Han opens it with the palm of his hand like it's nothing, and drops the cap onto the table.

"Krennic will go after Jolee Bindo and Goto first."

"Jolee will trick Krennic. Dude may be old and kind of crazy, but he deals with paranoid people afraid of shadows. Goto will drag that self-righteous bastard to the docks and drown him. And no one will stop him." Dread creeps up Rey's chest at the thought of such a deed, but she knows there's worse that Goto's done, and never brought up. No one would be brave enough to oppose the man. Rey covers her silence by taking a sip of her soda. "Krennic won't win. It's not his destiny."

~.~.~

By a day walker's time, it's far too late, and morning would be peeking between the buildings soon enough. For the night owl, it's early, and there's still plenty to accomplish before heading to bed. The streets are almost clear of people, but it's still dangerous for a drunk to walk or drive home. Armitage and Luke weren't terribly drunk, but enough where it mattered.

They're outside the bar, leaning against brick work trying to sing old musicals completely off key. Armitage can't remember the last time he's been this relaxed with a friend, and it takes his mind off his problems. By the time they're on _Singin' in the Rain_ , Wedge pulls up in his Jeep Wrangler, and laughs at the two.

Wedge Antilles-Skywalker is of average looks, salt-and-pepper hair and clean shaven. Smiling, he gets out, and shakes his head at his husband. Luke's eyes widen in happiness, and he slings his arms around Wedge's shoulders. They exchange brief kisses, and Armitage isn't bothered by their public displays.

"Babe, he's seen _Harrigan 'n Hart_! We were just singing 'We'll Be There', do you want to hear it?" Luke announces.

"Maybe another time. I have to be at the base soon, and I'll feel better if you're home sleeping," Wedge replies. He looks to Armitage. "I'll hear you guys sing another time. Want a ride?" Seemingly out of shadows, Kylo appears next to Halloran, and possessively wraps an arm around the human's waist.

"I'll make sure he gets home," the Devil says. Wedge's dark eyes narrow, and his face hardens at the newcomer. Kylo smirks, and tension builds in the air. Something unspoken occurs between them, but Armitage breaks it.

"I can make my own decisions." He smacks Kylo's pec, and removes himself from the Devil's hold. "The apartment isn't far, and I've made it there far drunker than this. Goodnight everyone." The human waves them off, and turns to stroll down the dark street. Kylo turns to follow him, and Wedge motions to stop him, but Luke holds him back.

"Ben is a good kid. He'll take care of Armitage."

Those words force the Devil to stop, and turn to look at Luke. The older man's face is flushed from alcohol, but that sage smile graces his face. Kylo felt compelled to enquire the statement, to know that there's more beneath just the words, and what memories are connected to it. Luke couldn't possibly know… could he? He just nods, and chases after Armitage.

"You sure?" Wedge wonders out loud, helping his husband into the Jeep's passenger side. The pilot gets into the driver seat, and begins to drive home. Luke continues smiling, humming a song to himself. They're halfway home when Luke speaks again.

"He reminds me of my nephew." Luke didn't actively discuss his previous gang life, and rarely the turning point that made him want to get clean. Wedge is silent, driving with his left hand as his right holds Luke's.

~.~.~

"What a glorious feelin', I'm happy again," Armitage sings, off key, but it doesn't matter this late at night. He's not loud enough to wake people up, and Kylo makes no indication to stop him. "Come on with the rain, I've a smile on my face." He continues singing; internal weights of his life lifted from his shoulders, and it's nice to be this easy going, to not be so insecure or such a hardass.

No sooner had he finished the verse did he trip, and Kylo caught him with ease, bringing the human close to his chest. Armitage didn't immediately pull away or refrain from the physical contact. Looking up, the ginger meant to thank the Devil, but his hazel eyes catch something silhouetted by the moon on top of a building. A female figure with cascading hair blowing in the mild wind. The surrounding lights try to create a silvery effect, but the light fail to fall upon the figure.

It's without proper reasoning that a memory stirs of a young Cassandra before she cut her hair the first time. Mother, Cassandra and he were outside staring at the night sky searching for constellations as Mother recited the stories behind the stars. The memory makes Armitage smile, and he closes his eyes against Kylo's chest.

"Silver lady up on the moon, with hair like chrome and heart of gold," the man hums to himself, uncaring if Kylo would later make fun of him for this childish tale. "Silver lady gather me up, take me up there to your bright moon. Where sticks and stones won't break my bones, and those words won't infect my soul."

~.~.~

Talking to someone about self harm is difficult, and it's a step closer to helping you find other ways to release the stress. There's articles online on how to do it, but it makes you wonder if the person writing it _actually_ knows what they're talking about. I browsed the r/selfharm on Reddit, and reading people's stories helps put a perspective on those who want to ask someone for help, but don't know how.

If you're still reading this fanfic then maybe you're going through the same thing. There are multiple forms of self harm with cutting being the most common. I don't think you're doing this for attention. We hide it beneath the layers of clothing, and don't want anyone to know. It's easy to say it's not bad enough, but it gets to the point where self harm becomes your first reaction.

If you're afraid of speaking up, I understand. Afraid that if you text or speak those words that rejection will be the initial reactions. Afraid that they'll tell everyone, and now they'll keep a close eye on you. It's easier to hide behind clothing and moments of happiness. I hope you do tell someone or at least try to learn how to cope in other ways. Good luck.


End file.
